Chapter 9
Enzo
She looked standoffish, my bride. But she also looked curious as she gazed into the kitchen while I worked to pour coffee grounds into a large French press.
As I filled a kettle with water, I gestured for her to come over.
No doubt she was suspicious that I would poison the coffee or something. Well, I’d show her that even I could be fucking hospitable. I wasn’t a complete brute all the time.
Slowly, cautiously, Valentina walked over, the confidence she’d been projecting all morning seemed to wane. Looked like the kitchen wasn’t the mafia princess’s domain.
“I assumed you’d have servants to do all of this,” she said as she approached the stone-topped kitchen island.
“I mean, I’ve got a valet and a housekeeper that shows up a few times a week, but I don’t want strangers in and out of the place all day,” I said. “I don’t need people to wipe my ass for me, you know.”
Valentina crossed her arms defensively. “Servants help free up time.”
“They also make you soft,” I said derisively without looking at her while I grabbed a bottle of milk from the fridge. “Sit down.”
Some part of me wanted to check and see if she was going to follow my instructions.
Because I wanted to get this woman to trust me.
My father had demanded it during our phone call last night.
But checking would just show that I didn’t trust her.
Which I didn’t. Still, I’d let her into my apartment, so I’d have to give her some leeway if my plan to persuade her to accept the engagement had any chance of working.
I heard the click of her heels as she moved toward one of the chairs. After the sound of the chair legs gently scraping on the floor, I heard her settle in a chair.
I smiled to myself as the water started boiling. So she wasn’t going to defy me every step of the way. Small as triumphs went, but I’d take it. Valentina Romano had done as I’d ordered.
Continuing my task, I poured the hot water over the grounds to let it steep. Then I grabbed two small coffee cups, placing one in front of her.
She stared down at the cup, turning it around as if trying to catch the overhead light for some reason.
Like she was fidgeting with it. But her small hands and slender fingers made the movement look almost elegant.
Valentina was anxious though, I could sense her unease.
The ice queen was losing a little bit of her infamous control.
Maybe the thought of a wedding was giving her jitters after all.
This wasn’t the first time this morning I’d seen that icy demeanor of hers start to thaw, revealing that there was actually a woman deep down, and not just some cold-blooded killer.
I’d noticed her give up some of that control when I’d give her a pat down.
She’d tried her best to hide her reaction to me touching her, but I saw the blush in her cheeks.
I felt the way her body trembled beneath my touch.
Heard how breathless she became the lower my hands went.
And that fire burning in her eyes. There was no mistaking how much she enjoyed it.
I could still feel the warmth of her on my hands, and I’d give anything for the chance to memorize every curve of her body through touch alone.
That desire was mutual because as much as Valentina objected to us consummating our marriage in the future, she had welcomed my touch today. A sign that I could win her over. At the very least, I could inspire enough lust to use it as a weapon against her. All I required was patience.
Soon I had poured out two cups of coffee, adding milk to make a frothy foam at the top of her drink.
“Impressive.” Valentina gently blew on the steaming coffee, gracefully lifting the cup to her lips for a delicate sip.
As she lifted the cup, the engagement ring on her finger glinted in the light.
A forceful and possessive instinct surged through me, so unfamiliar that I almost couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was at first.
But the word mine crashed through my brain, drowning out everything else.
That ring tied her to me whether she liked it or not.
Plus, she hadn’t taken it off. There would be other things to make the marriage official—contracts, legal agreements, the marriage license—but nothing as symbolic as my ring on her finger.
The ring I’d purchased but hadn’t chosen.
It had been the most expensive ring from one of the most renowned jewelers in the world, I’d at least made sure of that.
No wife of mine was going to appear in anything that was beneath her.
Only the best for the future Mrs. De Luca no matter how much I wanted wring her pretty neck.
She let out a satisfied sound when she tasted her cappuccino. “Just like they make in Italy.”
“Have you been?” I asked, suddenly interested as I took a seat opposite her.
“Yes,” she answered. “Papa wanted me to get in touch with our roots. How about you?”
“I can’t show my face in Italy,” I replied, shaking my head. “My father, brothers, and I would all be dead men if we ever went back.”
“That’s a shame,” she said. “It’s beautiful there. And every city is different. Rome, Milano, Napoli, Pisa, Venezia, Verona.”
Just hearing her say Italian words in what sounded like a perfect accent was arousing. “Verona? Like in Romeo and Juliette?” I asked, not wanting her to keep believing I was some uncultured caveman.
Valentina blinked in surprise. “Are you a Shakespeare fan?”
I shrugged. “Getting through his work. There’s also The Two Gentlemen of Verona which isn’t half bad for a first play.”
Her surprise turned to pure shock. “Are you into plays?”
“Some of them. Big fan of Chekhov. Not musicals though, that shit is boring,” I answered.
“Not a fan of yesterday’s opera?” she asked.
“Nope. Also, didn’t help that I could barely understand a word of the Italian,” I muttered. “How about you, big fan of Italy?”
“You could say that,” she said. “I can’t wait to go back.”
“Speak much Italian?” I asked.
“I’m actually learning,” she said, sitting up straighter and sounding excited.
Looked like we had stumbled onto the topic that made her happy.
I hadn’t thought the ice queen was capable of true happiness, but if she liked Italian, I’d make sure to remember that detail. “I want to get fluent one day.”
“Well, maybe my old man could teach you,” I said.
She responded by taking another sip of coffee.
Probably pushed that angle too fast. Nothing was going to have a Romano retreating like the thought of the formidable Don De Luca as their father-in-law. Hell, he was my father, and the man could be hard to deal with at times.
“What do you want for breakfast?” I asked, rapidly changing the subject. “Fresh sausages sound good?”
“Yes, that does sound good actually.”
I got up and headed over to the freezer to yank out a link of frozen sausages, setting them out on a cutting board. Then I grabbed some knives and got to work. I ran the risk of ruining my suit, but fuck it. I wouldn’t hurt to be a good host.
“Wait, are those Italian sausages?” she asked from her seat at the kitchen island.
“Yeah, I pre-seasoned it to add to the flavor,” I said. “I can defrost them pretty quick and add more seasoning, which is the best way to do it.”
“You’re a chef?” she asked, sounding impressed.
“Nah. I’m more of a butcher,” I explained.
“Excuse me?”
“I was a butcher’s apprentice back in the day. Even got a certificate for it,” I told her. “Kills are easy. It’s cutting the meat, that’s the real challenge.”
She didn’t respond. Next thing I knew she was standing by my side staring down at the cutting board while I gripped a pair of knives in my hands. “Are you telling me that you killed this yourself?” she asked, looking squeamish.
“I did,” I confirmed. “It’s good to kill what you eat. Though, I suppose a mafia princess wouldn’t understand or appreciate that virtue.”
“You killed this pig?”
“Yeah. Can’t get pork liver, heart, or lungs without slaughtering a pig,” I said.
She still appeared squeamish, wrinkling her delicate nose in distaste, but there was a curiosity in her blue eyes. That was probably what made her so intelligent and observant. That endless curiosity of hers.
“Changed your mind?” I asked.
Valentina gazed up at me, defiance behind her eyes. Her sensual mouth twisted into a seductive sort of smile. “No. I’d like to taste what you’ve killed.”
I grinned and gave her a nod. No point in explaining to her that I’d first learned to slaughter animals so that I’d be prepared to kill people when necessary. That would just sour the mood and I’d rather have her eating out of the palm of my hand.
Valentina returned to her seat and I continued working on the sausages.
First defrosting them, then adding another round of seasoning, before I placed them on the stovetop grill.
After the sausages were ready, I laid them out on a plate for us and served some bagels and donuts on the side.
Probably a chaotic breakfast, but what the hell, this was all last minute.
Valentina immediately dug into the sausage as I sat across from her again. Her face lit up when she chewed. “Oh, my goodness! This is so good. Where did you learn to make this?”
“At one of your father’s restaurants,” I deadpanned.
Her eyebrow shot up. “You’re joking.”
I grinned but said nothing further.
She had eaten all her donuts and was about halfway through her sausages when she said, “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Feeding me, trying to be nice to me.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee. “Our marriage isn’t going to be like this.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“We’re not going to be a normal couple,” she answered. “I mean, just this morning, you’re giving me a pat down, I managed to sneak in a weapon, and oh right, you killed our breakfast.”
“Which you ate,” I pointed out.
“I wonder. Do you only kill domesticated animals, or do you also hunt the wild ones too?” she demanded angrily.